Fire In My Veins
by sohawkeward
Summary: War, to them, is the lingering hand on their shoulder. A reminder. They cope. Johanna Mason tries her very best to forget, and then Katniss turns up at the door with the recovering world behind her. Sometimes, it feels like the war hasn't ended - at least, not on the inside.
1. House Call

A/N: This started out as a practice for first-person writing. Then it took on a life of its own. A little problematic (to me) at some parts, so I'll be doing a review of it much later down the road. As posted on AO3. Oh yeah, I'm back on this site! Good to be back!

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**House Call**

I shudder when the cold water hits my skin, spilling over my head and onto my shoulders. I shut my eyes tight as I take a reluctant shower, counting off in my head. The thumping in my chest is too fast, too loud, and I have to count verbally now. My hand falls on the shower tap, trembling so hard that I can't grip it properly and turn the shower off.

I know the water isn't hurting me but it doesn't do anything to stop the wild racing of my heart and my shortness of breath. I begin gasping, as if resurfacing from deep pools threatening to swallow me whole. There is not enough air. I grab my towel and wrap it around me – forget turning off the shower, I need to get out – and stumble out the bathroom.

The room is dry. A comforting change.

I hate that I still remember my stay at the Capitol. The rebellion, the fights, the bloodshed and torture – they all come back to me in the quiet of the night. They seize me like thieves out of shadows. It is only recently that my nightmares have chosen to follow me even into daylight.

It has been five – five weeks? Five months? I can't remember. Time is lost to me, irrelevant within the expanse of my home in District 7. I don't care much about counting the days; I just want to forget. I curl up against the bedframe, thinking about anything but the Capitol, the Mockingjay rebellion, President Snow, Katniss Everdeen.

The Girl on Fire owes me as much as I owe her. I remember the days just after the rebellion ended and the Capitol fell along with that snake Snow. I remember Katniss checking up on me in the hospital of District 13, like she checked up on everyone else like a worrying mother hen. I remember always seeing her first when I wake up from a nap, and I remember the faint shine of relief in her eyes when she sees that I am still breathing.

It was – is – strange to see – to feel – someone caring like Katniss Everdeen does. I grew to depend on that, depend on the fact that she would have to be the first person I see when I wake up. So I would remember that we won, even though it hadn't felt that way. It still doesn't feel that way, as I press myself against the bedframe further, steeling myself for the day ahead.

I hate this, I really do.

A knock captures my attention, pulling me out of a daze. I run a hand through my hair, untangling knots as I unravel my messy thoughts. I don't even think of changing into proper clothes as I reach for the doorknob; the Games are over. I am no longer one of those victors – I don't have to keep up appearances.

I immediately regret that thought when I open the door and find Katniss Everdeen standing on my front porch.

She has the same look that she had in the elevator, so many lifetimes ago.

"You need proper clothes," is the first thing Katniss says to me.

I almost snort. What am I supposed to tell her? That I was freaking out in the shower before this and forgot to put my clothes on?

I smooth my hair into place like I did my emotions. I flash her a smirk.

"Well, you need better-looking clothes."

The sitting room is quiet and dim – just the way I like it. The only thing that fills the silence is the clinking of spoon against glass as I get the tea out. There is nothing strange or awkward about Katniss being inside my house even though we have not seen each other since the day I recovered and left District 13; we fought side by side – I think there is no better intimacy than that.

I set down the tray and sit across Katniss, stretching like a cat. I am still in my towel, but she doesn't even seem to notice anymore. I frown a little – that's no fun. She seems to realize my unhappiness at the situation and clears her throat. "So," she says, "How have you been?"

I nearly choke on her words. How have you been? What kind of response is she expecting from me? Oh, me? You know me, Katniss. Independent. Alone. Snow killed off everyone I ever knew and cared about, so I don't have to worry about personal space. Really, Katniss. I'm having the time of my fucking life here. I stretch my mouth into a tight smile.

"Fine." It is all I can manage for now.

Katniss looks at me as if she is studying something foreign, something she doesn't recognize. I feel anger flare up within me; is she really judging me for my dishonesty? Barely able to hold my own tongue, I ask her the same in return. "What about you, Girl on Fire?"

The name has an effect on Katniss. Her blue eyes flash with remembrance, but more importantly they flash with anger. I smile wryly when her mouth curls into a frown.

We have not touched our tea yet.

"What's the matter with you, Johanna?"

I cock my head to the side, feigning ignorance. "What's the matter with me?" I parrot, taking in every minute detail of Katniss' descent into frustration. It is the only game I ever get to play, since she is the only visitor I ever get. "I'm perfectly fine, Katniss."

"No, you're not." Something hardens behind those pretty blue eyes. "You've been missing our calls – all of us."

Of course, by 'us' she means the usual band of misfits who survived the final stage of the rebellion. The baker boy, the brooding rebel Gale, Haymitch who reeks of alcohol, Effie, the woman who won't stop butting into our lives after we left the Capitol. I sink further into my chair, pretending not to care. I contemplate my toenails as I raise my feet and rest them on top of the coffee table between us.

"I'm sorry. I sleep with earmuffs," I say. My eyes turn up at the sight of Katniss' hands balling into tight fists. I hold back a smile. "Am I getting on your nerves, Katniss? I thought we were friends –"

"You're not acting like it, that's for sure," she snaps, and finally I can see it – she is just as tense as I am. She still carries the weight of the war on her shoulders. Her strong exterior crumbles ever so slightly and I allow myself to feel sorry for making her feel this way.

"I guess we have our ways of coping," I drawl. I put my feet back on the ground. "I lied. I don't sleep with earmuffs."

"I figured." Still, despite it all, her sense of humor prevails. Something to look forward to in our conversations, I suppose. Perhaps that's why I only entertain her presence – this is her second visit, now. I consider the first visit as the time she entered the ward I was resting in during my stay at the hospital. At the time, it seemed she never left my side.

I smile at her. "Alright. You have something for me?"

"Like I said, you've been missing our calls." Katniss brushes a strand of hair from her face. "Haymitch and Effie are getting together to invite us back for a reunion. Said something about…getting through this together."

"Like a perfect, happy family. Mom, Dad and my siblings." I resist the urge to roll my eyes, but I let out a laugh. "This is everything I've ever wanted."

"You don't have to make fun of it. I know it's been hard on you –"

"Then why didn't you visit?" I yell, leaping to my feet. I am still clutching to the towel wrapped around my body as I walk around the table to reach Katniss. I seize her by the collar with a shaking hand and pull her up. "I've spent – I don't know how long – spent all this time alone, trying to get over what happened and you think – all of you think – a fucking phone call is going to make me feel better –"

I am livid. Then I am relieved she is here. I am a whirl of emotions and Katniss braves that storm, pulling me into her arms. Then I am sobbing, uncorking the bottle of everything I've kept inside since the day I came back to an empty house and a head full of bad memories and nightmares. I clutch at Katniss' arms, holding on too tight but too afraid to let go.

"I've got you," I hear her whisper into my ear. Then warm lips touch my hair, then the side of my face. She is my friend. I cry harder at the thought. "I've got you now, you're gonna be okay."

She continues to talk, promising me all these things, until I fall asleep. And for the first time, I dream of nothing.


	2. Beginning of the End

**Beginning of The End**

When I wake up, she is the first thing I see. For a moment, I wildly think of District 13, of the war. Is it over? I sit up and find myself in my own bedroom. The tension leaves my body and I fall back against my pillow. The impact, however soft, manages to wake Katniss up. She looks up at me, dazed in her half-sleep, and I resist the uge to smile at her.

"Had a good sleep?" I ask.

"I should be asking you that," she says, sitting up straight and stretching. "You slept like a baby, by the way."

"Haven't done so in a while." I let my feet touch the ground and I slide off the bed. It is only when I look at myself in the mirror that I realize Katniss dressed me in my sleep. A furious surge of embarrassment rushes to my cheeks, tinting them pink – horribly obvious against my pale skin. I turn to her. "You put clothes on me."

"It was the logical thing to do," Katniss says, not missing a beat. "It would've looked scandalous otherwise."

I roll my eyes. "It's not like there are Capitol cameras to capture footage or anything. Though I bet that would give Caesar Flickerman a lot of interesting news to deliver."

I see Katniss smile behind me in the reflection of the mirror. "He would."

"So," I say, still fixated on her reflection as I tie my hair up, "When do we leave?"

Katniss blinks, visibly surprised. "Oh. You actually want to come?"

"Why not?" I shrug. "It's not like I have anyone to talk to here."

Hurt flashes across her eyes in an instant and I regret my choice of words. I frown at her. "Don't pity me, Katniss. Save it, okay?"

"I'm not pitying you," she denies, though there is a measure of truth in her voice. I believe her. I believe her easily. "I'm sorry. We can leave when you're ready, I guess. Everyone else is already there."

"Already?" I raise an eyebrow. "When does it start?"

"Tonight." She looks amused.

I am not.

"Alright, let me get this straight – this isn't just a party with food where we all sit down and talk about old times?" I glare at Katniss, hands on my hips. I feel like I've been fooled, and she looks disturbingly cheerful about it. "What is this, Katniss? Really."

"This is just – look, it's not that bad," Katniss leaps up from the seat just as the train begins moving and takes me by the wrists. "I mean, I almost killed Haymitch and Effie right there when they told me but – but I thought it would be good. To reintegrate. To try and lead normal lives again."

I narrow my eyes at Katniss. "So their grand idea of integration is to hold a dinner-and-dance? Katniss, are you even sure it's time to start being so ridiculously happy after all that we've been through? We've been through a war and – war never ends! It follows us, it –"

Her blue eyes shimmer with something she hides quickly. She lets go and my hands fall limply to my sides and I stand there, watching her back. I feel terrible about hurting her, for reminding her, but it is the truth. And Johanna Mason never covers up the truth unless absolutely necessary.

"Katniss." My voice is rock-hard. "You know I'm not wrong about this."

"Haymitch –" Katniss' voice cracks when she says his name, and I am immediately by her side. When I see the tears beginning to fall, I grab her by the shoulders and turn her to me.

"What about Haymitch, Katniss? What's wrong?" Already I am thinking back on all the calls that I've purposely missed, choosing to do something else rather than face my allies. I am thinking about all the possibilities, all the things everyone was probably trying to say. I only find an answer – a whisper of it, really – in Katniss' expression. She is breaking. "Is something wrong with him?"

She crumbles. "He's – sick," she says in between half-sobs, doing a very bad job at composing herself in the process. "He didn't want – didn't want anyone else to know. Except Peeta and I. Said he wanted – wanted us to be happy with him, because he might just – he doesn't know when –"

The next few words come and go like lightning. Like thieves in the shadow, they have stolen something from me. Cancer. Limited time. He'll be gone in a few months –

It is strange how fast we have reversed our roles. Through the gentle hum of the train, I whisper my words of comfort to Katniss. I am familiar with death, yes. But I am not used to it. I never will be. So I hold her close to me, hand on the back of her head, and close my eyes. My touch is gentle, softer than it has ever been – unlike the way I held my axe – and I find myself murmuring in Katniss' ear, too close for comfort, but she had done the same for me.

"It'll be alright."

It is a lie, and I know it.

But I never cover up the truth unless it is absolutely necessary.

When the train slows to a stop in District 12, I feel the world stop all around me. Katniss' hand is linked with mine, but I'm the one holding her – holding it all together. I don't miss out on the irony here. We walk out of the cabin and leave the train, and I take in the sight of the new District 12. I have never been here before, but I know it was incinerated during the war. This is the new District 12 – and it occurs to me that the Katniss I know is probably not the same Katniss from before she first stepped into the Games. I feel a tinge of regret as I look her way and notice the blankness in her blue eyes.

What were you like? Happy? Happier?

Peeta and Gale receive us from the train. The baker boy rushes forward and Katniss' hand slides out of mine, I note with a slight feeling of betrayal. It is ridiculous, I know – she's just running to give her boyfriend a slobbering kiss after crying her heart out on the train, on my lap – but I never claimed to be in control of my emotions. I never claimed to know how to respond to the prospect of friends – people who care.

I watch them embrace each other, the way Peeta leans in and murmurs in her ear like I did. I don't understand the wave of anger that washes over me, so I turn to Gale. "So, many happy returns," I say, forcing a smile. I don't know Gale – not the way I know Katniss, Peeta or even Finnick – but we have been through the war together, one way or another. It is enough for me. "Heard Haymitch has got quite the party."

"I know about Haymitch," Gale says, turning to look at me. "You don't have to bother. Katniss was trying her best, too, until she caved in and told me."

"So is there anyone at the party who won't know?" I ask wryly.

Gale's expression turns thoughtful. "Effie. I think. Haymitch is apparently adamant that she doesn't know."

"Smart choice," I say. "Woman might cry down the entire house."

Gale regards me with a curious look. "We haven't heard from you in a while, Johanna."

I shrug. "Now that I know, I don't think I should have ever considered answering the phone."

"Fair enough. Come on," Gale's gaze follows the couple ahead of us. "Let's head into the house. And don't let Haymitch know that you know."

"Fine by me. I hate to see people cry."

Gale hums in acknowledgement and leads the way. I think about how I hate seeing Katniss cry more – not because it disgusts me, but because it stings, somewhere deep down inside, and it reminds me that I am still alive.

"So, you're here!" Haymitch greets us in the middle of his drunken stupor. I almost laugh, in spite of the circumstances. Of course he'd drink himself to death before the cancer took him.

"God, Haymitch, you look absolutely the same," I say, smirking. And I mean it. Despite everything I've found out so far, Haymitch still looks the same since I last saw him. The damn bitch isn't going down without a fight.

He laughs and pulls me forward, thrusting a glass of brandy into my hands. "Drink all you want, kid. We'll have all that sappy nonsense later. Now's the time for pomp and festivities!" He claps loudly. "Music!" His swan song to the end of his life.

That's when I realize that Haymitch's place is filled with people I don't know. Or Katniss, or Peeta, or Gale for that matter, judging by the looks on their faces. Since the destruction of the other districts, people have been spilling into each other's territories simply because it didn't matter anymore. It occurs to me a little while later as I stood by in a corner, watching the crazy crowd dancing and drowning in their joy, that I could have come by District 12 whenever I wanted to – whenever I needed to –and Katniss wouldn't have said a thing.

No one would have.

When Effie arrives, the crowd practically oozed out oohs and aahs at her outfit. There is no longer a distinction between a Capitol citizen and the district people – then again, this is Effie, who was there for Katniss and Peeta since the 74th Games, though she might not have been so attached to them yet. She flaunts her dress – horrific in its resemblance between a cross of a peacock and a fish – and I wonder where she still gets her outfits done.

I watch Effie hug Haymitch without hesitation. Previously, she would have stopped short of his beer breath. Now she takes everyone in her arms, even stinky old Haymitch. Dying old Haymitch. The thought of him being gone and Effie falling apart makes me sick, though I don't care much about that woman. That's the thing with death. It brings people together.

"You're not doing a very good job at pretending to be oblivious." Gale is suddenly by my side, setting down his drink on the table.

"I've done my fair share of acting," I say, crossing my arms.

"Well, don't be a wet blanket for him." Gale offers me a hand. "Dance with me?"

I almost refuse him, the words at the tip of my tongue – not in this lifetime, Hawthorne – until I catch sight of Katniss and Peeta slow dancing in the middle of the dance floor. Something stirs within me, the foretaste of an oncoming storm.

I take Gale's hand, and put on my best show.


	3. How We Go On

**How We Go On**

"I didn't think you were the dancing type," Katniss says, appearing beside me in the garden after I stepped outside for a break from the acting. She says this with a note of surprise in her voice, like everyone else does when they discover things about me that they didn't know before.

"You just don't know me well enough, Catnip." I grin at her when she slides a look at me, picking up on the usage of Gale's nickname for her. "I danced with Gale and we had a long talk. I was integrating, Katniss. Why do you look so pissed?"

"I'm not – I'm not angry." Katniss looks away. "It's just weird. It's always just been Gale calling me that. It's Gale's thing."

"Well, it's not like my heart's thumping with excitement when I use that on you," I say with a sneer. "It's pretty cheesy. If I had to call you anything, it'd just be Katniss."

Katniss snorts. "Original."

"Or I could call you Mockingjay –"

Katniss cuts me off with a pointed look. I raise my hands. "I get it, I'm overstepping boundaries." I smile at her as a form of apology. "So why aren't you with your boyfriend?"

"I saw you walk out alone. Thought you might need some company." She shrugs, turning away. "Peeta's too busy being charming."

"As usual," I say. I finally get to take a good look at her in her dress – it is almost as if we are back at the Games again, on Caesar's show. "You look nice." I mean it. "Really."

"Well, Haymitch insisted." Katniss' voice falters. She clears her throat, trying again. "He said he wanted this to be the 'best damn party anyone's ever attended'. Said I had to stand out because…well."

"It seems to be working." I lose focus on the conversation all too easily when she looks my way, the moonlight giving her eyes a glow I will never forget.

"What is?"

I shake my head. "The party. It's good," I say quickly. How can complimenting a friend be so hard? So painful? "Do you want to go back in and keep your boyfriend company?"

"He has a name"—not that I cared—"but you look like you need the company more."

"Pity, Katniss. Told you to shove it. I'm alright on my own."

"That's not what happened at your place."

I frown at her. "Why do you have to be such a downer all the time, Katniss? Here I am, trying to have a good time on my own, and you just intrude, you know? If your coping mechanism is to butt in on other people's problems then –" My breath hitches when I watch her turn away. No, no, no, no. "Stop – Katniss, stop."

She does, and I relax. I think of Haymitch. I think of him dying. And I think of Katniss walking away and never coming back.

I know I need her. She's my friend.

I walk up to her and wrap my arms around her waist from the back. I pull her close, and then even closer.

"I'm sorry."

Then Katniss does the impossible – she turns around, faces me, takes my face in her hands. She does this all very slowly. And yet the moment passes so quickly. "It's okay."

I am the one that completes the moment, closing my eyes and kissing her on the lips. I taste the forest. I feel fire. Behind my closed eyelids, I think I see the glow of the fire. Ember breathing. I kiss her harder.

Then she kisses me back.

Long after the party's over and the lights go off, I sink into bed beside Katniss – but not before I watch her say goodbye to Peeta in the middle of their houses. I watch, standing by the window, feeling particularly murderous for one reason or another. It is absurd, how much I want to push Peeta out of the way and have Katniss for myself. Then I remember the kiss, and how she kissed me, and I know I already have her. I have her in the best possible way, because even though she possesses the best, she regards me as better.

The thought is enough to put me in a good mood by the time she enters the bedroom. I catch her by surprise, slinking out of the shadows, and kiss her on the neck. I feel her shudder beneath me, an earthquake rippling through the both of us as we held each other. I don't know how she does it, kissing Peeta one moment and trying to undress me the next.

I don't know, but I don't care.

I pull her into bed. Our exchange is wordless – it's all just fire, everywhere. On my skin, in my mouth, on her lips – especially when she brushes them across my skin, sinking lower until I meet with my oblivion and salvation. She feels good – no, she feels perfect on me – and I don't hesitate to show her that she suits me best.

The night darkens and shadows bathe us both. I climb on top of her and straddle her hips, leaning forward. I cannot resist a chuckle. "Well, looks like the odds were in my favor."

"You were expecting this?" Katniss asks, surprised.

"No," I shake my head. "I didn't expect this at all."

I feel her relax beneath me. "Me too."

"So, what do you think?"

A pause. And then: "I think this is crazy."

I smile. "And when have you ever known me to be anything but that?" Dipping forward for a kiss, I brush my fingers against her face, tracing her jawline. She answers my desire with surprising passion, nearly overpowering me right there and then. But I don't give in to her – that's not the kind of person I am.

Her tongue burns on my skin and I let her continue, closing my eyes and reveling in the moment. We lay there long after we finish – or at least, after Katniss decides we've had enough – and I tangle myself between the sheets and her. I enjoy the way she shivers under my touch as I brush my mouth across her ear, along her jaw and down her neck.

I enjoy the effect I am having on the Girl on Fire, the symbol of strength, because now she is helpless. She has overthrown an entire government and fought a war in the process. This is the kind of woman she is: resilient, indestructible. And now I have her shivering under my touch. By extension, having her here, I have conquered the world. She is exactly where I want her to be.

I bury my face into the crook of her neck, kissing her there. She sighs, a hand on the back of my head.

"What do we call this, Johanna?" she asks me some time later.

I catch her by the chin in the dark.

"Our coping mechanism."


	4. Interlude I

**Interlude I**

When I wake, I can still taste the war in my mouth: blood, from having bitten the inside of my cheek too hard in my sleep. I find that my arms are wrapped around myself, tight with muscle memory and tense, as if ready to spring into battle at any moment. Then I remember that I don't have my axe with me - I remember that I don't need to.

In the shadows, upon her bed, I sit and hold myself together. I swallow my blood silently. It is all I can do. My skin pricks; a faint echo of my time in the Capitol after the Quarter Quell. I used to hate feeling the phantom touch of electrocution, but now I shrug it off. It doesn't matter anymore. The sensation is incomparable to Katniss' touch.

I wonder if she knows the effect she has on me. I wonder if she knows that the sex isn't the real coping mechanism – she is.

I wonder if I know how to tell her.


	5. Sharing Drinks I

**Sharing Drinks I**

On the rare occasion that Katniss is absent, Haymitch calls to invite me over to his house. There's no small talk, no effort at pushing conversation, just: "I want to talk to you. My place in ten minutes."

"Need to sober yourself up first?" I can't resist the jibe.

He shares a laugh with me.

Sometimes it's easy to forget that Haymitch is going to expire soon.

On a normal day, his place is tidy – tidier than the one in my imaginations. I stop for a moment to marvel at the pristine condition of his sitting room – it is so unlike his character, so unlike his nature.

Ah, wait. I grin at the sight of alcohol cluttering his coffee table. Not so unlike him after all.

He brushes past me and sits himself down on the armchair without waiting for me. I take my place opposite him, across the table. He offers me a drink – an entire bottle of it. I raise my eyebrows. It seems death has left him unhinged – far too generous, far too eager to share. I'm not sure if I would rather see him a broken man or a pleasant one.

"Been hoarding all this since the end of Snow." Haymitch gestures vaguely to the collection of brandies, whiskies and the like between us. "Thought I'd spend the rest of my life finishing them – slowly, mind you."

I can think of nothing to say, so I drink.

"Well, in a sense, I think I kinda do." He gives me a significant look. "You're gonna help me with it, aren't you?"

"What makes you think I want to become a degenerate alcoholic?"

"You already are."

I meet his eyes – the eyes of a dying man – and I finally oblige. "This is what you get for being greedy, Haymitch."

"Don't blame me for wanting to live." He takes a mouthful of brandy and pours himself another glass. "Now," he sets it on the table and reclines against the armchair, "I don't think we've got any secrets between us."

"If you're referring to the very abrupt end of your life, then yes, I don't think we're hiding anything from each other."

He chuckles. "I need more friends like you."

I look at him with a wry smile. "You don't need friends like me."

"Not if you end up hurting the two kids I care about the most."

My smile widens. "You're finally getting to the point." I pick up my glass and swirl the liquid around in it, watching its lazy, hypnotic movement instead of him. "How did you figure it out?"

"I thought it was because I was piss drunk that night, you know? I saw you two in the garden, flirting," he grins like a devil, "and you being scared as hell of her."

I tighten my grip on the glass in my hand. I lean across the table. "Then it's a good thing you'll be gone before you ever let her know."

He likes it – he genuinely likes it – and tips his head back in laughter. "Oh, you are wicked. No wonder she takes a liking to you."

"Quite the understatement."

Haymitch eyes his drink, smile slipping away. His voice takes on an edge, "Have you ever thought about the consequences of your little escapade here?"

"You're talking about the emotions of Peeta, the recovering amnesiac." I suddenly have no desire to drink any further and set down the glass again. Haymitch can finish his alcohol without me. "You think I should consider his feelings just because he went to hell and back? Newsflash, Haymitch – I did too." I nearly snarl out the next bit, "We all did."

"And that means I should understand your impulsive actions here…" Haymitch tips his glass towards his lips ever so slightly. He finds his grin again. "Who's being greedy now?"

I cross my arms, stiff with anger. He continues: "I'm all for chasing dreams and living life the way you want to, Johanna, really –" He eyes the assortment of bottles on the table before looking back up at me. "But I won't let you do it if it means you're going to crush the boy in the process."

"It's nice to see you playing Daddy while you still can," I say, rising to my feet, "but you and I both know that even if you make me stop, chances are she might not want to."

"That'd be my last gamble." He challenges me with a glint in his eyes. It is almost as if this is all a game to him. Almost.

I take up my coat and head for the door. "Don't bother. You care about her feelings as much as you care about his, and you wouldn't try talking her out of anything she's decided to stick with." I stop at the doorway and turn back to him. "Don't worry, Haymitch. You've got the rest of your life to figure it out."

I think about the way I treated him that afternoon.

I think about the way he will leave this world – dying to keep things unbroken while he withers away.

I think about how I am dying to kiss her hair, to drink all of her, to drown in the fire she creates with every touch. I think about how it all makes me indifferent to his intentions, disregarding his wish like he disregards mine.

I think about the selfishness he and I share.


	6. The Forest I

**The Forest I**

Katniss takes me to the forest – she says it's not how it used to be and I can see why: the forest bears its own scars from the uprising, recovering on its own as the years will pass.

"Not much game anymore, too, though the creatures will probably come back someday," she says, looking off in the distance.

"'Course they will," I say. She turns to look at me, disbelieving smile on her lips. I toss a pebble her way and she catches it. "This is home. And those who belong always come back."

She studies me as if she doesn't know who I am. I decide not to tell her that I feel the same every time I look in a mirror.

"Sometimes this doesn't feel like home," she admits to me, hours later, as we sit under the darkening sky.

I turn to her. "Yeah."

"Everything's different now. I can't – I can't recognize it much." Katniss' eyes are glazed as she speaks further. "Sometimes I wonder how I haven't gone mad yet, from all this strangeness."

The wistfulness in her voice reaches deep inside me and I move closer to her. "Everyone's feeling a little strange," I offer, and she glances at me with a question in her eyes. "We're like this place. This forest. Everything."

"The more I look at it all, the more I remember what it used to be like." She sighs sharply, closing her eyes. "That's the worst part. It never gets out of your system."

She hums a distant tune. It rattles me with longing and remembrance, and I wonder if she is, in this way, telling me how she is feeling about the world at large.

I let her voice carry me home, and I am certain that she will never get out of my system either.


	7. Question and Answer

**Question and Answer**

I allow myself a moment to be human.

"Do you ever regret this?" I ask her the question that has been clawing the inside of my chest for a while now. As I let the words fall from my lips, so does the reality of my fear of her answer.

She is wrapped in the blanket, as I am, and turns to me slowly. Her eyes speak more than she ever can, and she doesn't even know it. "Sometimes. Being around Peeta makes it hard to feel otherwise."

I try not to make a face at the mention of his name. "Then what do you do about it?"

She looks at me for a long moment and I catch something softening behind her gaze before she turns away.

"I come back to you. That's it."

It is half the answer I was hoping for - good enough for me.

I just wonder how long this contentment will last, before my selfishness demands more.


	8. Fighters

**Fighters**

Sometimes it feels like we haven't stopped fighting. We often find ourselves in the midst of a struggle – one that is purely physical. The only difference is that between our little push-and-pull and the war, we enjoy this more.

In this way, we are more intimate than lovers and more skilled than dancers. I know the way she moves – I've memorized her too many times – and she is aware of me. We push and pull, but we rarely want something the other doesn't.

Most of the time, of course.

On worse days, it almost becomes an actual fight. We end up on opposite ends of the room one evening, heavy with emotion and short of breath. Half the room looks destroyed, reflective of its owner's guest. My thoughts are cluttered, too close to each other, overlapping constantly. Hers, I'm not sure of. I'm not sure I want to know. I almost think I've had enough, and then I meet her gaze.

She can swallow me whole with one look, and I don't even care. I rise, unsteadily, to my feet and cross the room to reach her. I cross many worlds to reach her, and she stretches out a hand. It is an invitation. An apology. A promise. I take it.

I let her lips burn on my skin and I sigh unwittingly.

I feel sure that the war will be over soon.


	9. The Forest II

**The Forest II**

Haymitch begins to lose control of his own body, bit by bit. The tumor is the cause, they said. Effie doesn't know how to deal with the news – no one has told her until now – and she doesn't know how to respond. She locks herself in the upper room in Haymitch's home, refusing to talk to anyone.

Katniss withdraws in her own way. She talks less and less now. One day she disappears, nowhere to be found, and Peeta comes to me. He no longer limps – he has gotten used to the prosthetic leg like I have gotten used to my scars. We are both carrying on, two of us, and a part of me wonders if it is truly wrong to want to take Katniss from him.

He knows nothing of my thoughts or what is hidden from him, of course. He's just worried about Katniss. He comes to me and tells me that I should have an idea of where she's gone to because I spend a lot of time with her.

I almost want to tell him. It's on the tip of my tongue, truth ready to fall like an axe.

"Johanna?" He looks at me, oblivious. "Do you know where she is?"

"No," I finally bite out. I turn away from him. "I'm not sure. Maybe Gale knows about her haunts. What do you think?"

"I've checked with him. He says she might be in the forest, but it stretches on forever. I can't do it alone."

"We'll go with you." Gale appears by my side, clapping a hand on Peeta's shoulder. "I know the forest better than anyone."

Peeta nods, directing a grateful look at Gale, then at me. I hate that look, for one reason or another.

* * *

I find her first. She is up a tree, looking off in the distance. I wonder about her thoughts. Then she notices I am there, and I think I see a ghost of a smile touch her lips.

"Katniss. Peeta's all over the place looking for you."

She considers my words, her expression turning rueful. Then she shifts herself on the thick branch, making space for one more.

"So were you."

When I reach the top, I realize something. I think she knows it too, from the way she greets me with her eyes.

She has chosen to be where Peeta cannot get to her.

"Do you think they've gone back yet?" Katniss asks.

"I think so. It's almost dusk."

"I don't want to go back."

Her voice is small, smaller than I've ever heard it. I watch her fold into herself, knees up against her chest. Something about the way she looks feels like a stab to the chest.

Outside the veil that shields us from everything else, the wind sings a hollow tune: a stretched out scream. The forest is empty except for the two of us, but she still manages to look so cornered, like she's out of options.

Little wonder why.

So I offer her the only answer I have.

"Then let's go somewhere else."

She considers the weight of my words. She meets my gaze, sees the burning request in my eyes: leave with me. Let's get the fuck out of here. Just you and me.

She looks entranced for a moment – as am I of the way the moonlight falls on her face. Then she blinks, shakes her head with a snort. Snaps out of it. The illusion is broken. The veil falls away, and I am once more keenly aware of the world around us.

All Katniss manages is a laugh. "And would anywhere else be any different?"

The question stirs something dangerous inside me. It feels like a tempest, waiting to break out from my body and engulf us both. I don't want to think about it, don't want to question the possibilities with her tonight. I don't want to come back to this moment; I only want to move forward. So I forget her cynicism, I forget her doubt. It is surprisingly easy to forgive her.

I think it must be the expansiveness of this forest, it must be the absence of everyone else, that makes me feel so free, so bold, in this moment. Or perhaps it is her presence that makes it so.

"Everything's different when I'm with you." Every word bears a heavy weight. "Why do you think I haven't left this dead place yet?"

She doesn't consider my words this time – she doesn't need to. She knows what I am saying, and she moves to consume me. I kiss her until I forget who I am, until I forget who I ever was. Until all I taste is the forest in her mouth and all I smell in her hair is pine, pine and ash.

I am done with the war. I am done with this life.

But I will never be done with Katniss Everdeen.


	10. The Archer and The Axe-Wielder

**The Archer and The Axe-Wielder**

There is something hypnotic about the way she uses the bow to kill. Her movements are seamless, arrow after arrow, and she looks like she can go on forever if she doesn't run out of arrows. Her form seems to float along with the wind as she takes her steps; an elaborate dance I can never mimic but can surely memorize. If I look close enough, it almost looks like she's made the bow her actual dance partner – a companion more than a tool. The bow is an extension of her the way my axe is an extension of me but she melds with it so easily that it is hard to separate the two in my mind.

It is hard to look away – not that I'd try to, of course.

She stops, twenty arrows later, and walks over to me. Offers me her bow. "Want to try it out?"

I shake my head. "That's more of your thing. I'm the girl with the axe, remember?" I say, mouth curling into a grin.

"Anyone can be good at it." She still holds the bow out to me, persistent, as always.

"Not the way you are."

"Compliments will get you nowhere." The twinkle in her blue eyes betrays her words. I rise to my feet and take her face in my hands, out in the open – a first. She doesn't resist, doesn't drop her voice into a whisper telling me to stop. I kiss her and linger there, enjoying the way she lets me close.

My hands go for her waist but end up finding the cold, metal curve of the bow's body. An extension of herself she is willing to part with for me, yes, but it isn't what I'm looking for. She breaks the kiss and dips her head back, wicked smirk on her face. A vast improvement to the girl I found in the forest.

Despite her good mood I hand the weapon back to her, not amused but slightly honored at the gesture. "I'd rather watch you use it."

Katniss finally gives in. She resumes her practice and I resume my watching – just the way it should be. The archer and the axe-wielder.


	11. Atrophy I

**Atrophy I**

Haymitch's words begin to fail him and Effie falls apart, bit by bit, as Katniss is. Peeta reacts similarly, and the two of them, by Haymitch's side, resemble each other more than ever. I try to ignore the bitter taste in my mouth and swallow it all down when I catch Haymitch staring at me. His lips twitch a little, threatening a grin, and I have to turn away.

Even in death, even as he withers away, Haymitch refuses to let me off. Soon after I excuse myself and wait outside with Effie, pale-faced and unusually free of being caked with vibrant makeup. I gather that it is her way of mourning when she can no longer cry, and I feel a pinch of sympathy for the woman.

"Oh, Johanna," she finally breaks, tears spilling forth in waves, "I can't believe this. I just – I just can't!" She babbles on about the war, about how hard Haymitch has fought and I feel sicker and sicker the more she speaks, so I leave the house entirely after giving Effie a hug.

I walk. It is all I can do. I walk far and long until I find myself in the forest, until I can breathe again.

She finds me, hours later, up in the tree and joins me. I refuse to look because Haymitch's half-grin is still etched in my mind, a ghost to follow me for the rest of my days. And Peeta, with his lingering presence – the thought of him completes my sickness and I want to hurl, I want to get everything, everything, out of my system: the little gamble I'd agreed to, the gratefulness in Peeta's eyes, the war, Katniss' touch, Katniss' melancholic anthem –

"Johanna."

Her voice, like velvet, draws me in. Too fast for me to try and stop myself. I look her way and she is looking at me with eyes that hide nothing,nothing, from me. The forest is our place, she seems to say as she takes my hand. Ours. She completes the gesture with a kiss on the inside of my palm.

The gentleness of her actions puts my world into stasis.

All around us the forest stretches on forever – there are no districts, no Capitol, no war, no nothing. Just us two, in the one place where Peeta cannot reach her, and now where Haymitch's dying wish cannot reach me.


	12. Atrophy II

**Atrophy II**

In the wake of Haymitch's condition, I find myself considering the absurd. Perhaps it is out of a desire to prove the man wrong, or perhaps it is to soothe the stirring inside – for better or for worse.

The forest has this ability to make me believe that I am what I'm not: brave, strong, and infallible.

"Would it be selfish of me," I begin, tracing lazy circles with my thumb on the back of her hand, "if I told you I wanted you to leave him for me?"

It is miniscule, but I feel it: the stiffening in her hand, the short tug I know I did not imagine.

Then she relaxes. She dares to look up at me and I feel a flutter, a strange lightness in my chest.

Then she lets me down as quickly as she lifts me up.

"I can't. I mean –" She fishes for words, a frown carving itself on her forehead. In the short silence that we don't speak, I catch my breath. I try not to let myself go just yet – maybe, I think, maybe she'll come 'round.

Hope is a dangerous thing, something says at the back of my mind. It fucks me up before she does, and when she does, she speaks with words that fall like a hammer.

"I can't leave him," she goes on, avoiding my gaze now. The impact of her words on my soul is loud, jarring – thunderous. I quiver against my own will, but I cannot find it in me to let go of her hand. "Not after – not after everything Peeta's done for me. I wouldn't be doing right by him. It just – it wouldn't be right. And this… it isn't me doing right by you either."

The distant avalanche in my chest throbs with warning, a sign that I should leave, that I should go home, but I know that home – the concept of it, the foundation of what I consider home – is nowhere without the girl speaking these words to me now.

"You're guilty." I say it like I don't feel the same. I am a liar when I need to be. "I know why. It's him, isn't it? He's pricking your conscience every time he's with you. He reminds you of things –"

"He reminds me that he's attempted to give up his life for me, more than once." Katniss closes her eyes. I am sure that she is remembering him, even now. "He tried keeping me safe, that's all he ever saw…and in the end he suffered for it." She sucks in her breath as I feel the air leave my lungs. She is living – and I am dying. It feels that way, for one reason or another, and the bitterness returns. I roll it around with my tongue, tasting the sour poison, all the while watching her fight her own desires – and my own.

"So that's what it is," I say in a low whisper. "Protect Katniss, give up your life for Katniss, and earn her in return. Is that it?"

"No, it's not about earning me – it's not the same." Her frown deepens, and so does the blade stuck in my chest. It digs deeper, carves its way in, the more I continue down this path.

Go home, a voice nags at me. Another one, conflicting, rises to the prompt. But there's nowhere to go. Nowhere without Katniss. Nowhere.

"Why isn't it the same?" I ask. I silently attempt to will her to open her eyes, look at me and show me that she doesn't mean a thing she's saying, that she doesn't – not since I kissed her and she kissed me back – still feel the same way about Peeta Mellark. But she doesn't, and her eyes remain closed. "How is this any different?"

"You don't love me."

The forest is empty – emptier than it's ever been. The whole world is a forest – no districts, no Capitol, no war.

There's only just me, and the faint echo of Katniss' song completing the blade's plunge into my chest: our swan song.


	13. Sharing Drinks II

**Sharing Drinks II**

"You want to know why I left District 12 at the end?"

"Katniss. I know."

Gale shrugs at my reply, pretending I'm not right about it but I know I am. He offers me a glass of brandy – one I recognize from Haymitch's hoard from before. I raise my eyebrows at him.

"Haymitch let you take this?"

Gale snorts, crossing the room to stop in front of the fireplace. "We've been sharing this since the war ended." His back faces me and he watches the fire and I think – maybe – he is seeing Katniss too, as I am.

"Hm. He asked me over for a drink once." I consider the glass in my hand. "Didn't go down so well." The truth in the forest, the alcohol from Haymitch, or the conversation in his house? I deliberate over my choices as Gale turns to face me.

"I don't know why I'm still here." He watches me, clutching the glass in his hand. We resemble each other in that moment, his words mirroring the thoughts in my head. "Do you?"

I raise my glass to him and down it all in one gulp.

One word left on the tip of my tongue.

"Katniss."

He grimaces, and faces the fire again, pretending again that I'm not right about it.

This time, I do the same.


	14. Sharing Drinks III

**Sharing Drinks III**

When I hear that Haymitch is a bit better, I walk over to his place to see him. He doesn't answer the door, but Effie does, and she looks slightly happier from the last time I saw her.

"He's regaining strength in his walk," she says to me excitedly, like it's the only way she knows how to handle normal conversation. "I think it's a good sign – perhaps, I don't know, perhaps this will all disappear within the next week."

We stop at the door to Haymitch's sitting room. I glance at her. She looks a little doubtful of herself, so I offer her a small smile. I am a liar when I need to be.

"Maybe it will, Effie." I leave her a little more hopeful and enter the room.

He sees me and grins. "Sit." He nods at the chair in front of him. I settle myself on the armchair and notice that he's already prepared the glass and bottle.

"You expected me to come to you?" I take the glass. "Funny. We didn't part on good terms, last time I was here."

Haymitch studies me behind the amusement in his eyes. "You and her. Not going so well, is it?"

My grip tightens. "None of that now, Haymitch. I'm just here to have a good time."

"You taught me something before – greed gets you nowhere." He takes a sip from his own glass, more careful than before. I like to think he fears his own death in this way. "Maybe the kid is teaching you the same now."

Something snaps within my chest, like a rubber band stretched for too long.

"Fuck you," I hiss, letting the poison leave my lips. "Fuck your condescension, Haymitch! This is the last thing I need –"

"You're so like Gale." He doesn't even bother to look at me – doesn't even care. He just swirls the brandy in his glass and watches it as he speaks. "Both of you, believing the only way to get past yourselves is to pour everything into one person." He glances up at me and grins. "Maybe you two should get together sometime."

I hurl the glass past his face, possessing no intention to let him get hit by it. He knows this, too, somehow – I can see it in the way he doesn't flinch at my action. He sickens me for some reason, for being so triumphant when I am – I don't even know how to describe it. All I can think about is Katniss' song, the one that came from Rue – a song borne out of loss and death.

"I hope you _live_," I bite out, my voice hoarse and far from human. "I hope you live so I get to kill you myself one day." I don't mean it, I know I don't, but I can't find it in me to admit it as I leave Haymitch, his drinks, the sitting room and our gamble behind.


	15. Interlude II

**Interlude II**

The nightmare strikes me – one where Katniss is falling away and all I can do is scream her name – and I wake up shivering, an earthquake rattling my body and a mouth full of blood as I scream until my voice dies out.

I don't hear the door open, don't hear her footsteps, but I feel her arms around me, tight and determined as if it can stop me from shattering on the inside, as if it can reach under my skin to stop the ruination from within.

My hands reach up to touch hers, and I find myself holding on like my life depended on it. I hear myself calling out her name, and her responding to me, but I feel detached from the experience. I feel as if I am someone else looking in from outside, so far away where nothing can reach me.

But she manages – she manages to reach me in the end, kissing me where she knows will calm me, soothe me. She kisses my scars, whispers healing words upon the cracks in my spirit and promises again – she promises a lifetime away from the war, she promises me the world and she seals it with her song until I return to myself and to her, the only place I am meant to be.


	16. Atrophy III

**Atrophy III**

"I – I love you." I suppress the trembling in my voice as I speak. "Don't think that I never did, I just…never knew how to say it."

She watches me from the opposite end of the room, so many worlds away.

"Doesn't that change anything?" I ask in a whisper, fearful of her answer.

She rises to her feet, crosses the room – a familiar sight I welcome – and takes my face in her hands. Kisses me once, on the lips, and again, on the forehead.

"I'm sorry," she whispers back.

Then she is kissing me like she will never get to do so again and my instincts are clipped like the wings of a bird. I don't question, I don't doubt, I just pour everything into the moment. I assure her of my feelings with my mouth, my hands; I try to make her see – and she takes it. She lets me in again and we meld together like she does with her bow.

She presses her lips to the side of my face and I shudder at the swell of her sigh against my ear. Then she says it again: "I'm sorry."

I stop to tip my head back and look at her, unable to process the fragility in her voice. It feels like goodbye, it does, but I refuse to believe it until the door opens and he walks through it –

"Katniss?" He says her name like a prayer, begging her as he sees me there, tangled up in her embrace. He's begging for it not to be real, as I am.

Then he is gone, out the door, his footsteps growing dimmer and dimmer as my world grew darker and darker. Katniss takes off after him after whispering her last apology, and then she is yelling after him and asking him to come back. I sit where she left me – it is all I can do.

Doesn't she think – doesn't she think that I would do the same for her? To run after her and call her name – to chase her like the sun chases the moon? She apologized to me, but she chose to run after him instead, and so, in this way, she shuts me down and forces my entire world into stasis. I shiver at the emptiness of the room, and I force myself to close my eyes.

Some time later, Gale finds me. I don't know how, but he does. He clears his throat and I look up, opening my eyes, and I see his hand outstretched.

"Haymitch," he says, his expression grim and darkened. "He's gone. We thought he was getting better but he just – it's like he just decided to go."

I take his hand because I have nothing else to hold on to.


	17. How We Go On (Redux)

**How We Go On - Redux**

The funeral is as all funerals are – quiet, depressing and full of memories. My memories of Haymitch are irrelevant at this point – I know he is somewhere laughing because I lost to him in two aspects: that Katniss would choose Peeta and that he wouldn't live for me to kill him. He is happy, I want to believe he is, and it gives me a small measure of peace to get through the service.

Katniss gives her eulogy and I swear she looks at me throughout the piece. It could have been my imagination but no – I want her to look at me. I want her to know that there are two people dead at this funeral, and I want her to remember it for the rest of her life.

She thanks Haymitch and then says goodbye and Effie bursts into tears beside me.

The crowd disperses and I turn away just as Peeta stretches out his hand to Katniss. Of course he forgives her – he loves her. Then I think back on my moment with her in the forest, and how I forgave her as well.

I would forgive her for this, too - a betrayal that has lodged itself inside me. I would forgive her in an instant, if she asked. Even if she didn't ask.

So how am I any different from him?

"Hey."

I freeze at the sound of her voice. I search the crowd for Gale and find him rather far away, but he is watching me. He gives me a nod before turning to leave, but I know where to find him later. I know why he chooses to do this, to leave me as she finds me – closure is important, he says to me an hour before the funeral. He was trying to convince me to go for the funeral, but I ended up being convinced to face Katniss one more time. I remember myself, I remember Gale's advice, and I ready myself.

I turn to her. "Hey yourself."

She tries to smile at me but it never happens, like a hopeless fire clinging to life in the middle of a rainstorm. She sighs and takes my hand, a gesture that reaches deep, deeper than her words ever will.

"I'm –"

"I know." I shake my head. "You've repeated yourself enough. I can't say I feel better hearing it, but I feel better knowing we won't die on opposite ends of the earth as awkward not-friends."

"We're not friends?" She looks hurt, as if I'd just told her to not cremate Haymitch's body and feed it to the hounds instead.

And I am hurt she assumes I mean my words that way.

"We are. But to me, you –" I stop to catch my breath. My anger from before slips away, all too easily. "You're more than that. You have been for a long time now and I…I can't run away from the truth. You fucked me up, Katniss, you did," I watch her face crumble but I can't back out now, "But you were my coping mechanism. You did what you were supposed to do. I coped. Then…then I loved you. And now you know."

Hours before, I consider lying to her before leaving. Or even screaming at her, telling her I hate her (which would be a lie in itself). Now, the truth is all I have for her. It is her presence that makes it so. She finds her smile in the midst of my parting words.

"So now what?" she asks me.

"Now I cope again, by myself." At the earnest concern in her eyes, I wrinkle my nose. "I'm not going to die, Katniss. I know how to handle myself."

She nods. "Okay. Yeah. Of course you do."

I consider kissing her one last time – just to piss her boyfriend off – but I realize the consequences of such greedy behavior. I eye the portrait of Haymitch behind Katniss, his smug grin still following me, still making sure I do right by her.

I say goodbye. It is all I can do.

She leans in before we part and whispers something in my ear. I carry her last words with me, and the song she hummed to me so many lifetimes ago.

The war is over.

_The end._

* * *

A/N: Congrats! You've come to the end - or if you skipped right to this part, then I guess that's cool too lol - and I'd like to thank you for taking the time to read it. As per my note on AO3: And so here we are, at the end of my little story. I had actually intended for Johanna and Katniss to have a happy ending, but since writing and writing my thoughts evolved and I realized there was no real way to end this on a good note where these two end up together with Peeta in the picture and the war behind them. I'm terribly sorry towards those who thought it might have been so - trust me, I wrestled with my own thoughts long enough - and I hope this didn't crush you too bad. There's a follow-up to this story, just a short one, titled 'Between The Bars'. Check that out if you want.


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